A Western Bar Scene
by Nothing Really Specific
Summary: As the name implies. It's a bar scene with Panchito Pistoles. It's is an experiment, I'm not really sure if I'll develop this or not, so I did a one shot. Please review! Rated T: Violence, mild drug references, mild sexual references (PG-13)


_**A Western Bar Scene**_

**(This is just a small experiment of writing a western, not really sure if I actually want to write this or not. please review!)**

**MEXICO CITY, PRESENT DAY**

The night air was cold and the bar smelled of liquor and booze. Cigar smoke filled the room and rose above the shady dealers, gamblers, drunks, and prostitutes who all had the same occupation, alcoholism. Some in different ways, like the alcoholism of money or perversion but still one would get drunk, off one, the other or both. It didn't matter. Everyone in that bar was a lowlife, even the bartender, José Balderas was a dealer of some sort, his main export was illegal narcotics.

Mr. José was cleaning a glass with a dirty, white dish rag that looked like it had been used for toilet paper if you could imagine such things. As he put the glass down on the counter and poured water, a customer entered. "Ahola Senor!" Jose said with a sly smile, looking at the man and noticing that he wasn't an open book. The man's face was hidden from view, in the shadow of his sombrero, which was large and casted a shadow over his shoulders. Walking up to the counter, the man put down a single paso. It spun and spun, and it continued spinning until the man placed his hand over it violently as if he were annoyed by it. He pushed the money towards the bartender. "What will it be senor?" Jose asked. "Your finest wine." The man said with a smile. "Lo siento senor, but we don't have any wine." The man with the hat nodded slowly, "Well what _do_ you have?" He said. José nodded and reached below the counter to grab a bag of cocaine. As he was doing this the man removed his sombrero revealing himself to be a rooster. When José was back up he looked at him and dropped the bag on the floor, spilling it's contents. A lump grew in his throat. "W-w-what are you doing here?" He asked. The rooster smiled and motioned for the bartender to lean over the counter. He did so. "To collect my dues." The rooster answered. José's face grew pale. "Please Senor, I didn't do anything I swear I-" the rooster grabbed the back of José's neck and slammed his head on the counter so hard that the sound of the bashing echoed throughout the bar for several seconds. Everyone was silent. The games stopped. The drinking stopped. Everyone turned and looked towards the bartender and this rooster, who remained nameless. José looked up and saw that the rooster was standing up with one foot on the barstool and the other firmly on the floor. He also had his hands at his side. "What do you want Senor?" Jose asked again. The rooster pulled out two pistols, spinning them around stopping at exactly after three revelations. "Okay, okay," Jose said, nodding and heading toward a door that was on the wall behind him, "I'll just be right back." He said, and sprinted out the door which led through an alleyway. The rooster quickly vaulted over the bar and ran after the fleeing bartender.

José never ran faster in his life. He knew what this rooster was after. Good old fashioned revenge. A few days ago, José sent a group of hired hands, his employees, aka mercenaries, to kidnap a group of people for ransom in order to gain money to continue buying cocaine and political immunity and eventually the Mexican government. They made an one small mistake though, they kidnapped a member of the wrong family, they never expected anyone to actually come and deal with it. José figured that the police wouldn't do anything about it because crime bad enough as it is and they have enough problems of their own, the police considered José and his small group a nuance, a back burner problem that they'll deal with later. José didn't expect a vigilante. Not at all.

He looked back at the bar and the open door and saw that no one was following him, he had easily lost the rooster or figured that he had given up and would try again tomorrow, in any case José was thankful that was still alive. He breathed a sigh of relief, "Glad that's over." He said as he smiled and turned around. "Not quite." It was the rooster, standing there, gun pointed to his head. "Any last words senor?" He asked. José swallowed the saliva that was building in his mouth. "Please Panchito I didn't do anything I swear." The rooster smiled, "You, don't call me that." He said. "Well what do I call you?" Jose replied. "Pistoles." Panchito said and fired.


End file.
